I'm the ex-girlfriend, the girl in the polaroid, the one in the play, the scar on your back, the crazy tattooed horse girl by the river, the englishfrenchwoman in New York who isn't Quentin and the car accident that keeps almost happening. Up for adoption, damaged but nicely packaged, no refunds.

Thursday, 30 August 2012

Episode 7: Girl on wire

Sitting in my underwear by the A/C in the studio in Brooklyn. Adopted-till-Saturday cat Haystack staring at me condescendingly from his perch on the shelf above me. Every once and a while a strand of long cat hair floating down to my nostrils, daring my allergies. It's hot, I'm highly strung, stream of insecurity thumping back and forth in my heart. Jeeez as someone would say.

Was upstate for four days. Again that eerie feeling of being in the right place with the right people. Familiarity in the midst of new encounters and surroundings. It sounds so fucking new-agey I'm tempted to dive into a bout of nihilism just to rebel against the warm fuzzy, but been there done that. Maybe part of growing up is also accepting the good stuff with optimism rather than raised-eyebrow cynicism. But couldn't this be the most cosmic set-up for the one big fall? I mean being here is so obvious, so right (majorly overusing that word). The cogs and struts and whatever other mechanical metaphor keep clicking into place. People are being kind to me, smiling, wanting to insert themselves into my existence. These weird coincidences keep happening, strands of the past crossing over the present. There was a red-headed boy I apparently scared the shit out of in college who's turned into this absolutely brilliant man whose brain I want to pick for hours and who's made me forget I hate being a passenger in the car. Then there's a burst from Squeezebox days gone by in the form of Gio, beautiful Gio who's now this almost glowing zen well adult for want of a better word. And the enduring thread of my beating heart. Almost frayed and sensitive to every breeze but still solid, damn you to hell. Whoever said it is better to have loved and lost then not to have loved at all is an asshole. I don't want to lose. I will keep running forward with my annoying stubbornness. So if the fall comes, if the punchline turns out to be at my expense, then who knows what will happen. But now I am happy in my underwear in Brooklyn. I am home.

P.S on the Fleetwood Mac covers album, Dreams by The Kills. Soundtrack to my week.

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